Read Me (Like An Open Book)
by define-serenity
Summary: [Barry/Caitlin] Caitlin Snow, a self-proclaimed Egyptologist has inexplicably managed to drag him back here, to Hamunaptra. City of the Dead. She must've enchanted him, because this unholy place has lived in his nightmares for close to three years and even now he can't shake the sense that bellow its sands lies but one thing. Evil.


**author's notes:** Written for **Snowbarry Week 2016** , Day 4: free day. Based on a scene from _The Mummy_.

.

 **Read Me (Like An Open Book)**

.

.

 _1925, somewhere in the Sahara desert..._

"Okay, tough stuff." Barry laughs, and takes on a more balanced stance –feet apart, even weight distribution, knees facing the same direction-, mindful of the woman he's teaching; Caitlin Snow, a self-proclaimed Egyptologist who has inexplicably managed to drag him back here, to Hamunaptra. City of the Dead.

Somehow this naïve yet insanely intelligent young woman must've enchanted him, because this unholy place has lived in his nightmares for close to three years and even now he can't shake the sense that bellow its sands lies but one thing. Evil.

There's a reason he stashed a revolver underneath his pillow, why he had a satchel with a shotgun and smaller Colts, knives and a crossbow. He hadn't missed this desert wasteland, with its scorpions and snakes, or his old friend, Julian, now leading the other leg of the expedition. For three years he'd tried to drown those memories with booze and the odd heist, but to no avail. Gunshots rang in his ears, his comrades still fell at the hands of the Bedouin who had thirsted for this land all the same.

And that voice, from beneath the sand...

Caitlin giggles, a bit unsteady on her feet and her legs wobbly, but does exactly as she's told; she balls up her fist, brow lowering in concentration. She looks a bit ridiculous, standing ready to fight him in her long black gown.

Yet it's this perfectly eloquent girl, this poised young scientist, who had lured him back here. Sure, she'd given him his freedom and he's nothing if not a man of his word, but there's more than that. Maybe at the very beginning she'd been a means to an end, his way to evade prison, but slowly, if not a little unexpected, she'd wormed her way into his heart.

She'd become more than just a contract. He hoped to keep her save, to defend her honor should she need him to, and stand by her side should any more trouble arise.

He meant to face his demons for her, and all she hoped to find at Hamunaptra was a book she'd been told about as a child, holding all the secret spells and incantations of Ancient Egypt.

What was she doing here?

"Ball up your fist, and put it up." Barry puts up his hand too, to give Caitlin a target. "Now mean it, and hit me right here."

Giggling again, Caitlin says, "I mean it!" before striking, but misses his hand by about two inches.

She twists on her heels, and he catches her in his arms effortlessly, while she gives in to another fit of giggles.

"Okay." He laughs, lowering her to the ground. "Time for another drink."

He doesn't really mean that- she's had plenty to drink already, but Caitlin happily snatches the bottle from Cisco's arms, who'd fallen asleep an hour ago. He never would've guessed Caitlin would be the one still standing when the two of them opened the Glenlivet earlier this evening.

"Unlike my brother"—Caitlin takes another swig from the bottle—"I know when to say no."

"Uhu." His brow lowers as he sits down next to her on the blankets of their small camp, and he keeps his small smile to himself. He would probably do right to stop her, so she can have a clear head when they continue exploring the tunnels beneath the city in the morning, but now that he has her talking—

"And unlike your brother, miss," he says, "you I don't get."

" _I know_ ," Caitlin slurs, replacing the bottle in Cisco's arms, and wipes an ungraceful hand over her lips. "You're wondering what's a _place_ like me, doing in a _girl_ like this?"

He chuckles, too enamored to look away. "Something like that."

That's decidedly her last drink.

"Egypt is in my blood." Caitlin crawls closer to him on all fours, nearly curling up in his lap- his breath catches at the back of his throat, and his eyes fix in hers, swimming in delight the way they've done each time she talks about her greatest passions.

Then, she grabs inside her dress and pulls out the locket attached at the end of her necklace, and opens it. Inside there's the likeness of two people. Mr. and Mrs. Snow, he reckons, her and Cisco's adoptive parents.

"You see, my father"—Caitlin points at the small picture of a man with a great big moustache—"he was a famous explorer. And he loved Egypt so much he married my mother, who was an Egyptian, and quite the adventurer herself."

The stars in the night sky themselves were no competition for Caitlin's eyes right now, for the moonlight gleaming in her hair- and not for the first time he wonders how this happened. Had she snuck in when he wasn't paying attention? He thought that impossible.

"I get your father." He swallows hard, and keeps talking for the sake of talking, because it can't be that a young woman he's known for three days could make him so fiercely protective of her. "And I get your mother. And I get him."

He points at Cisco, fast asleep, and though he was an odd fellow, it's true—Cisco's here for the treasure, for gold and riches beyond his wildest imagination, and then some. But what about Caitlin? What was this bright light of a person doing out here in the Sahara desert chasing myths? Looking for a book? There has to be more to it than that.

"But what are you doing here?"

"Oh." Caitlin bristles, her brow lowering in frustration and she clambers up from the ground, almost toppling over.

He tries to steady her with a hand, but she slaps at it hard.

"I may not be an explorer"—Caitlin waves her arms around—"or an adventurer, or a gunfighter, _Mr. Allen_."

She trips a step back but maintains her balance, and at this point he wouldn't dare touch her or deign to disagree- the only people who ever called him Mr. Allen were the administrators at the orphanage he grew up in. He knew when to keep quiet then, and he knows it now too.

"But I'm proud of what I am!" Caitlin exclaims, and straightens her shoulders with great pride.

His eyebrows rise. "And that is?"

Really, at this point, he's expecting just about anything- she has such great ambitions, like joining the Bembridge scholars and becoming a world-renowned Egyptologist, yet she still jumps at every sound the desert made. She may not believe in fairytales and hokum, but something told him she hadn't left her Museum of Antiquities all that often.

Right now she's had far too much to drink for him to get a straight answer.

"I-" Caitlin breathes in deeply, "-am a librarian."

He smiles. She says it with such conviction he almost thinks it the most glamorous job in the world; and who's he to contradict that?

Maybe it's about time they get some sleep.

Caitlin drops to her knees in front of him, and any thoughts of going to bed fade from his immediate concern- her big brown eyes fix on his face, her pupils blown wide, and she licks her pillowy lips wet.

His heart skips a beat.

What is happening?

Caitlin leans in closer, eyes half lidded. "And I'm going to kiss you, Mr. Allen."

He swallows hard, his skin hot and prickly. "Call me Barry."

Caitlin breathes a smile, "Barry," and puckers her lips, her breathing more shallow, like he feels his becoming. There's no denying he's thought about this since he met her- and he _had_ snuck in that quick kiss at Cairo prison, but wouldn't this be taking advantage of her? At the time it'd seemed like a good idea, since he'd been about to be hanged.

Caitlin inclines her head, inching ever closer, and his brain short circuits- to hell with it. He's not making her do anything—

At that thought, Caitlin keens forward, and passes out against him.

Right.

He puckers his lips and kisses air.

Some other time then, he guesses. He gently pries Caitlin off him, and lays her back against the blankets, propping her head up on his jacket. Unable to resist, he pushes her curls back and traces the tips of his fingers along her hairline, hoping fiercely this place never affects her the way it has him.

He'll keep watch tonight, should any demons come.

.

.

 **fin**

.


End file.
